


In Vino Veritas

by enigmaticblue



Series: The Latin 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants to know how Dean really feels about a certain angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

Six months into the apocalypse, and they were kept busy trying to put out small fires that threatened to turn into something worse. Sam ducked a demon’s knife, coming up under the blade and slicing its throat. The demon died with a flare of orange light and a roar that made his skin itch.

He couldn’t help but miss the days when he could exorcise demons with a thought; still hard work, but infinitely less messy. Hell, he’d even take a Devil’s Trap, Latin, and holy water, but the demons were coming at them far too thick and fast for that.

Sam turned to check on Dean. His brother was sitting on the floor of the old church, bracing himself on his hands, staring up at Castiel, who had a hand on the forehead of the demon Dean had been fighting.

That demon went up in a flare of light and smoke and fire, and Castiel turned back to Dean. “Are you injured?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

Castiel held out a hand to help Dean, and to Sam’s surprise, Dean took it—and held on just a moment too long.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Castiel announced, “I have to go.”

Dean stared at the space that Castiel had just occupied, a bemused expression on his face, as though he was working out a particularly difficult problem in his head.

“Dean?” Sam called. When his brother didn’t respond, he tried again. “Dean. Dean!”

“Yeah, what?” Dean asked, turning to look at him, obviously still distracted. “What?”

Sam shook his head. Dean had been acting strangely every time the angel was around, but he was beginning to get used to it. It was funny was you got used to with an apocalypse on the horizon. “Nothing. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

Sam followed Dean out of the church, unable to get what he’d just seen out of his head. He could have sworn that Dean had just made a _connection_ with Castiel, and that it looked like a hell of a lot more than gratitude.

And if it was more than gratitude, if Dean had some sort of thing for the angel, Sam wanted to know—and not just because torturing Dean over being gay for an angel was his duty as Dean’s younger brother.

They were in a war, and Sam knew that chances were good they wouldn’t all make it through. If something happened to Castiel, Sam wanted to know how badly Dean was going to be hurt; and if Sam was killed, it would be nice to know that there would be someone to prevent Dean from doing something incredibly stupid.

~~~~~

Sam was still mulling over that scene in his head three days later. They were sitting in the Impala outside a farmhouse, having been given a tip by Castiel that there was some serious demonic activity there.

“Earth to Sam.”

He looked over at Dean, who was holding a bottle of soda and staring at him. “Huh?”

“Hunting demons getting too boring for you?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “No, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“I didn’t realize it was such hard work.”

Sam glared at his brother. “Shut up.”

Dean just smirked. “You’ve been thinking a lot the last couple of days.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asked, his eyes turning serious even though his words were light.

Sam knew that Dean was still worried about him, worried that he’d go off the deep end, or that he was hiding some big secret—or maybe that he would leave. He was aware that Dean’s biggest fear was losing him, losing the last of his family, and Sam had still walked away.

That’s what shamed Sam the most—more than breaking the final seal: he’d left his brother.

“What’s going on with you and Cas, Dean?” he blurted out.

Dean stared at him. “What?”

“You and Cas.”

Dean’s expression suggested that Sam had just lost his mind. “He saved my life, and yours. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I—” Sam might have tried to explain that the long, lingering glances and the little touches were making him uncomfortable, but Dean’s head snapped around and he shot out of the car. “Dean!”

“Move it, Sam. There’s trouble.”

Sam moved it, thinking that he shouldn’t be surprised that Dean had managed to change the subject, given how allergic he was to discussing his feelings.

And by the time they’d ganked the demon, neither one of them was in the mood to talk; they were too busy washing off blood and grime and collapsing into their respective beds.

Sam fell asleep immediately, and slept dreamlessly for once, but woke once in the middle of the night to the sound of voices. He kept his eyes closed, listening hard.

“You sure you’re okay?”

That was Dean’s voice, and he sounded worried. Sam was used to Dean worrying about him, playing the over-protective big brother. This anxiety was similar, but different—still intense, but in a different way.

“I’ll be fine, Dean.” That husky voice could only belong to Castiel. “I wanted to tell you that did well tonight.”

Sam risked opening one eye to see Dean sitting on the edge of his bed next to the angel. “Somebody died before we got there.”

“But no one else did. You saved lives. That’s the important thing.”

“Yeah, I guess.” There was a long silence, and Sam held himself completely still, feeling as though he would be interrupting something important—something private—if he drew attention to himself.

And then Castiel was gone with a whisper of sound, and Dean sank back onto the bed, rubbing hard at his face, his expression one of disappointment and longing so keen that it made Sam’s gut twist.

He had to wonder what it would take for Dean to admit that he might have feelings for the angel, since Castiel was definitely not Dean’s usual type. Maybe if Dean could admit that there was something there, he could have a shot at a little happiness in the midst of the daily horror.

And, God knew Dean deserved a little happiness.

~~~~~

Sam tried to bring Castiel up every chance he got, from the long drive to the next hot spot, to the evening spent researching the local poltergeist. Every single time, Dean dismissed his questions with a wave of his hand or a two-word answer that told Sam nothing.

By the time they stopped for dinner in the latest in a series of small towns, Sam was beginning to lose heart. His plan was _not_ working.

“Why the long face?” Dean asked, looking obscenely cheerful after a trip to the john. “Didn’t you see the pie they have here?”

Sam gave his brother the most long-suffering look he could muster. “What kind of pie is it this time, Dean?”

“Chocolate.” Dean’s eyes positively glowed, and Sam was once again amazed at how his brother could find such pleasure in the little things.

“Actually, that’s French silk pie, sugar,” the waitress corrected, sidling up to their table. “Would you like a piece?”

“Yes, ma’am, and a cup of coffee.” Dean gave her that charming smile that got him nearly everything he wanted.

The waitress, who was fifty if she was a day, winked at him. “You got it. And for you, honey?”

“I’ll take the special,” Sam replied. He waited until she’d walked away before trying again. “Dean, we need to talk about Castiel.”

Dean frowned. “No, we don’t.”

“Come on, man.”

“He shows up, gives us information, and takes off again before the archangels figure out where he’s at.” Dean shrugged. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Sam leaned in closer, not wanting to be overheard. “The way he looks at you, Dean.” He was about to say “the way you look at him,” but he stopped himself. Dean was already looking supremely uncomfortable.

“He’s an angel. It’s not like he’s got social skills.” Dean perked up when the waitress reappeared with a very large piece of pie and a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” he said enthusiastically.

“It’s no problem, sugar. You just let me know if you want a refill on your coffee.”

“Look at this, Sammy!”

Sam was looking, and he couldn’t help but notice that the piece of pie was a lot bigger than usual. It looked like close to a quarter of a pie. “It’s a big piece. But about Cas—”

Dean’s moan of pleasure as he took his first bite cut Sam’s question off, and the way he closed his eyes to savor it, told Sam that he wasn’t going to get any sense out of him, at least not until after the pie was gone.

~~~~~

“Cas!”

The cry sounded like it was ripped out of Dean’s throat, and Sam whirled to see the angel in the grip of two demons, while a third gripped his throat tightly. Normally, Castiel would have been able to free himself with a thought, but not this time.

This time, his eyes were beginning to glow, light coming out of his mouth, and Sam knew instinctively that if the demon was allowed to complete its work, that would be the end of the angel.

Sam used his long legs to his advantage, crossing the floor of the grocery store to plunge Ruby’s knife into the demon with its hand on Cas’ throat. The body of the teenage boy it had been possessing collapsed to the ground, and Dean hit the demon hanging onto Cas’ right side with a low tackle.

The light that had been starting to stream out of Castiel was abruptly sucked back in, and the angel touched the demon on his left with his now-free hand. What had nearly been a disaster was somehow wrenched back into the victory column, and Sam knifed the demon that Dean was holding still for him.

“Shit, Cas, you okay?” Dean looked the angel up and down, his hands twitching as though he wanted to search for physical injuries by touch, too.

“I am. Thank you, Sam.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam replied weakly, noting that Castiel still wasn’t looking at him, but at Dean, who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the angel.

Sam knew the expression on Dean’s face, the panic that had still not quite faded away, and he knew that he had to find out how Dean really felt about Castiel.

Because if Sam’s suspicions were correct and Dean was in love, and something happened to Castiel—if the angels killed him, or the demons banished him—Sam was the one who would have to pick up the pieces.

~~~~~

With the mantra, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” repeating on a non-stop loop through his brain, Sam decided to pull out the big guns: Jim, Jack, and José.

Sam waited until they’d had a victory, even if it was a close one, before trying again, knowing that Dean would be in a more expansive mood if they hadn’t just buried a half-dozen corpses. This time, they’d saved three families from demons, and they were pretty much in one piece, with just a few scrapes and bruises.

Castiel had shown up to help midway through, which was the main reason no one had died, and he’d stuck around for as long as it was safe, but he was gone now. Dean had the same sour expression on his face that he always got right after the angel left, lying on his back on the bed, an arm covering his eyes.

“Dean,” Sam began.

“What, Sammy?” Dean’s voice tired, with an edge that shouldn’t have been there after one of their rare wins.

Sam put the bottle of single barrel Jack on the table between their beds, and Dean pulled his arm away from his face and sat up when he heard the sound of the glass hitting the wood. “What’s that for?”

Sam gave Dean his best innocent look. “To celebrate. We saved a lot of lives today.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, as though he didn’t quite trust that Sam didn’t have ulterior motives for this. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Sam set two plastic cups he got from the store down next to the bottle. “So, what do you say?”

“Hell, I’m not going to say no to the good stuff.”

Sam poured a couple of fingers of amber liquid into both cups. “Drink up.”

He turned on the TV for something to do, flipping channels until he found a football game for lack of anything better. They watched in silence mostly, sipping at their whiskey, Sam refilling Dean’s cup a lot more often than Dean was refilling Sam’s.

The Bears were winning when Sam judged that Dean might just be drunk enough to tell the truth. “So, Dean. I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Shoot.” Even that one word is slightly slurred and gregarious enough to let Sam know that the alcohol has taken the edge off the wariness that they both still felt around the other.

“What’s going on between you and Cas?”

Dean tipped his head in Sam’s direction. He was sprawled out on his bed, leaning against the headboard, his eyes already a little glassy. “Huh?”

“You and Cas,” Sam said patiently. “What’s up?”

“He’s an ally.” Dean’s dismissive tone had Sam’s temper flaring.

Biting his tongue against the sharp retort he wanted to make, Sam pressed, “Remember when those demons nearly banished him? You freaked, dude. I’ve never seen you freak like that.” _Unless it was me in danger_, echoed through Sam’s head, but he didn’t think it needed to be said out loud.

Dean grimaced. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that.” Sam thought they might be edging closer to the truth. “So what’s up?”

“Cas saved my life. Hell, he saved your life, too, more than once.”

“I don’t look at him the way you do every time he shows up,” Sam retorted. “Come on, Dean, he’s always staring at you like you’re the second coming of Christ, or something, and you’re doing the same thing.”

“There’s nothing there, Sammy. We’re friends.” Dean put his plastic cup on the table, and Sam poured another inch of alcohol into it. “It doesn’t have to be more than that.”

And maybe it didn’t, Sam thought. Now that he thought about it, Dean had never really had a lot of friends. The sort of life they’d led didn’t lend itself well to friendships, which normally took time and more contact than the occasional phone call or email. Sam had made friends at Stanford, part of the “normal life” package that he’d wanted so much, but he’d eventually lost contact.

But looking back, Sam couldn’t think of anyone other than Jessica he’d ever looked at the way Dean looked at Castiel, and if his brother was in love with an angel, Sam wanted to know about it.

And not just because it would give Sam material to torture Dean over for years to come.

“I never looked at my friends like that,” was all Sam said, keeping his voice mild.

Dean’s flinch told Sam that he was making headway. “Sammy—”

“You _like_ him,” Sam crowed.

Dean glared at him. “You have to swear not to laugh.”

“I won’t laugh.” Sam was, of course, lying his ass off, but he wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this pass him by.

“I’ve been having dreams,” Dean admitted in a low voice.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of dreams?”

“Well, you know…dreams.”

Sam worried that they were wandering into forbidden territory. It was one thing to have the dirt on Dean’s secret feelings, it was another to have certain mental images. “Okay, so dreams.” He tried to remember his psychology class. “You know, that’s perfectly normal.”

“I’m dreaming about kissing him. Last night, he showed up, and he was naked, and so was I, and—”

Sam suddenly caught sight of the barely suppressed laughter in Dean’s eyes, and he swore loudly. “Shit! Dean!”

Dean started howling with laughter. “Oh, dude, you should have seen your face.”

“I didn’t need that mental image!” Sam shot back, throwing his pillow at Dean, who was still too busy laughing to duck.

Alcohol sloshed out of Dean’s plastic cup and over the side. “Hey!” he protested, licking his hand so as not to waste a drop. “Watch the cup.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Sam announced. “And try to wash away that picture.”

Sam was actually in the shower, the hot water doing very little to help ease the pain of thinking of his brother naked with another guy, when he remembered the expression on Dean’s face _before_ he’d started talking about his fake dreams.

A smirk formed on his lips. This wasn’t over. One of these days, Dean was going to have to admit that he _like_-liked Castiel, and Sam would be the one having the last laugh.

~~~~~

Dean was still laughing when he left the room to fill the ice bucket. Sam’s plan had backfired on him, and Dean always loved it when he could pull one over on his little brother.

Tucking the filled bucket under his arm, Dean turned to go back to the room, stopping short when he found Castiel standing in front of him. “You’re back.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re drunk.”

“You can blame Sammy for that,” Dean smirked. “He got me drunk so I’d tell him what’s really going on between us.”

“And did you tell him?”

“What is there to tell?” Unlike his conversation with Sam, Dean didn’t feel as though he had things under control. What he wanted, and what was possible, were two different things. “Cas, you’re riding another man’s body. Sure, maybe Jimmy volunteered, but he didn’t sign up for—”

“Sign up for what, Dean?”

“For anything other than serving as a vessel to an angel.” Dean shrugged, suddenly tired, the humor gone right out of him. “Dammit, Cas. I don’t know.”

Castiel stepped even closer, close enough so that their breaths mingled, and Dean suppressed a shiver at the sheer _power_ of him. He’d watched Castiel smite half a dozen demons not a few hours before, and God help him, but he’d found himself responding in a way that made no sense.

Dean didn’t go for men, but over the last year and a half, he’d found himself thinking about Cas in a way that just wasn’t normal. At least, not for him.

And he hadn’t exactly been lying when he’d told Sam about the dreams; Dean had just gone for the gross-out factor, instead of keeping things serious. Things were already too serious.

“This is no longer Jimmy’s body,” Castiel responded. “He cannot go back to his life. When I leave, his soul will be released.”

“That sucks,” Dean said bluntly.

A tilt of the head, and a quirk of his eyebrows, and Dean felt Castiel’s warm regard like a touch. “There is much in this world that ‘sucks,’” Castiel replied. “You were the one who told me it was worth it.”

Dean knew he was drunk; that was the excuse he would give later, anyway. He was drunk, and Castiel was _right there_, and there had been the dreams—

The kiss was tentative at first, and Castiel didn’t move under Dean’s touch. Dean pulled back, feeling like the world’s biggest ass. “Sorry. Sorry. I—shit.”

A moment later, the ice bucket fell to the ground as Castiel pushed Dean up against the nearest wall. It was not a particularly good kiss; the angel seemed intent on devouring his face, but Dean did his best to get him to slow down and take it easy.

Dean felt rough stubble under his fingers as he cupped Cas’ cheeks. Castiel’s hands were on his shoulders, kneading the muscles there in a way that spoke of desperation and desire.

Castiel pulled back after a moment. “I can’t stay.”

Dean gasped for air, swallowed hard, and nodded. “I know.”

He smiled. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Dean blinked, remembering another meeting that took place inside his head, just before Cas got sent back to bible camp. It was the only safe place to meet, the only place they could see each other without the rest of the angels descending on Castiel and Dean in a horde. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely. “I guess I will.”

Dean blinked, and Castiel was gone. He bent down in a daze to retrieve the ice bucket, pausing to shake his head. “That sneaky son of a bitch,” he muttered. “He _knew_ about the dreams. He probably sent them.”

Shaking his head, Dean headed back to their room. He figured he had a date to keep, and an angel to chew out.

~~~~~

And that night, Sam got the sound effects to go along with his mental images, and not even the pillow over his head could drown out Dean’s moans of pleasure.

When Dean murmured Castiel’s name, Sam sighed. He definitely wasn’t laughing now, but come morning, he’d find a way to get even with his brother.

Because Dean? Definitely gay for the angel.


End file.
